Art and Social Justice

Episode 1

Any form of injustice that affects a group of people regardless of whether they participated in committing it or not is social injustice. Social justice entails fair distribution of wealth, privileges, and opportunities within a societal set. This therefore means that anything that happens the opposite way is social injustice.

In my creativity and artistry journey, I have been wondering if there isn’t a ‘correct’ way through which we as creative and artists can use my creativity and art skills to address the issue of social injustice that has become a rampant norm in our society today. Assume I asked you this question, what would you answer me? Don’t bother whether you are a practicing artist or not.

Social injustices have currently become a daily dose with no one willing to offer or suggest a long lasting solution to end them. Income gap, health land rights, unemployment, voting rights violation, gun violence, corruption, name them, are some of the easily notable signs of deteriorating level social justice.

Well, art has a massive power and influence in driving mental, spiritual, and conceptual change, both at an individual level and socially. Aside from being used for recording history, shaping cultures and cultivating imaginations, art can as well be used to harness individual and social transformation agenda. Art in its uniqueness can be used to raise a critical consciousness and awareness, build a community of likeminded groups, and even motivate individuals to promote social justice.

Truth be told, we have heard or come across artistic materials and contents which are intended to sensitize the society on matters social injustice. Albeit it is not yet where it should be, the question we should ask is whether anyone bothers to act upon them or whether there is need for a paradigm shift in how it is expressed.

The challenge and problem I would openly point out without doing any research however basic is that the artists never follow up on their intentions beyond putting it on paper and media. Artists will end up doing the donkey work if they don’t follow up further on the intention of their content. Or are their intentions only money and fame?

Perhaps the reason as to why we as artists have never gotten to be listened to whenever we criticize or raise concern on these cases of social injustice is because our intentions is to blindly criticize hence losing the taste of the story. Artists ought to do professional art. Art needs to go beyond dances, likes, shares, and congratulatory comments. As an artist whose intention and quest is to reveal a societal rot, you need to try and dig deeper into the matter in question. Get to know where the whole story emanates from, how it started, by whom, what were their intentions. This is now called investigative art, and it will distinct you from your peers.

King Kaka’s Wajinga Nyinyi was intentionally a great content. But maybe it had more hearsays than the actual truth, and that could be the reason it didn’t sail through. I said maybe. Such like contents should be deeply researched and followed up to the last bit. That way, artists will achieve their intentions of restoring social justice through art.

As artists, let us do our writings, paintings, music, poetry, and any form of art we do intentionally and correctly to achieve social justice. As artists we should look at the bigger picture.

AKETCH

At the age of ten, Aketch still referred to her step-mother as ‘mother’. During then, the stepmother had not had a firstborn yet and when she got pregnant, Aketch knew he or she would be
her follower. When one day an uncle informed her that the woman she had been referring to as
‘mama’ was not her biological mother, she refused to accept and thought ill of the uncle.
“How would one be born to two different women who do not even share a blood link?” Aketch
asked her father. “Not possible.” Her father replied. “Are you trying to mean that I was born
twice?” “Why did you ask that?” Her father took a couple minutes of trying to digest and even
analyze the question so that he could know how to answer that. “You were born once.” “And
where is my mother?”
The saddest part of her father’s life was revealing to her that her mother died when she was two
years, and he had raised her alone for more than seven years. The revelation came with
uncontrollable river of tears. Aketch pitied her father and blamed herself a number of times
forsaking her father such a question; either way she needed to know the truth.
When the step-mother got her firstborn, there were more noticeable changes in terms of
treatment. The little love that existed before diminished. Aketch was transitioning into being an
adolescent. The challenges of these stages rocked her; her behaviors changed. As always the case
with girls when in this critical stage of their lives, Aketch cut short the cordial ties that existed
between her and her father, not because that is exactly what she had longed to do, it came out
naturally.
It happened that in those days, her father got a job with Sony Sugar Company as a truck driver.
The job was too engaging denying him time with his family. Aketch was living at home with the
step-mother and her firstborn daughter who was only one year old. From their home to Sony was
an hour and thirty minutes’ drive or two hours on worse days when the roads were impassible
due to rains.

Aketch started being a truant at school. This was highly contributed by her father’s absence at
home. If she was lucky, she saw the doors of the classroom twice or once a week. Her stepmother’s true colors had finally showed up. Aketch had assumed new roles as the baby sitter and
the house maid. She couldn’t count the times she was punished in school because of not doing
homework, and reading her books became just another far-fetched luxury.
Worse was when Aketch missed to sit for the end term examination that would see her promoted
to the next class, not because there was no money to pay for her tuition, but because the stepmother had refused to remit the money even though her father had given out the money. When
her father came back one of the weekends and asked his wife why she did not do the exams, she
secretly left the blame on Aketch. She said that she had given the money to her to go and pay, but
she came back with it claiming that the teacher in charge was not around. When her father
questioned further why she did not take the initiative of going to see for herself as an adult, the
answer was unclear.
After she noticed that someone she used to call mother no longer cared for her well-being,
Aketch developed a lot of fear of approach. A gap developed between them. She feared telling
her some things that really mattered. As a requirement of nature for the females, Aketch started
to experience her menstrual cycle. When it first happened when she was in school, her
classmates harassed her, some of them claiming that she was untidy. To the small boys who
could not hold back their breath, laughed and poured more insults, not in pretense, but they were
just trying to imagine how blood could have come out of someone with no cause.
Humiliation, harassment, dismay, and fear all combined fell into her mind. Her dress was halfway soaked in blood. The smell that emanated from the impure blood was not a thing for
someone with least understanding. Fortunately, it came at four, when they were about to break
for home. However, walking with the clot and pool was no fun. She pleaded with a friend who
helped her out with a cardigan with which she wrapped her waist after removing her dress in a
toilet room.

At home, Aketch was not guaranteed a rest. She had an array of chores that awaited her upon
arrival from school; washing utensils, washing clothes, fetching water, and firewood. In fact,
Aketch was the woman and the step-mother was the girl. Aketch never had time to rest; leave
alone time to bury her head into her books. On some unusual days, she could wake up very early
in an attempt to get the work cleared in the morning so she could extend in the evening to attend
the evening lessons, but on the days that her father was around, the mother always pressed the
warning button in her.
Referring to Aketch as an underage at thirteen was inappropriate. She was already a woman at
the age of twelve, only that she was still living in her father’s home. That evening, she arrived
home thirty minutes past the usual time she used to come. Anyone human on earth that is
considerate would easily understand why it happened so after she had explained what happened
to her in school just minutes to home time. Aketch’s step-mother was a special case. In fact, for
lack of a better word in a world full of polite terms, to refer to a person of her equal, I would
refer to her as a ‘hyena” standing on two legs.
Who on the planet earth has ever seen a hyena sympathize with a sheep because she is unwell? If
I could be in knowledge of someone who has, I would reward him for witnessing the rarest event
of a human life. That was the exact replica of Aketch’s step-mother. It was only six when Aketch
got home, her clothes baked in blood of unpleasant smell. Alongside her, was a friend who had
escorted her from school carrying her bag as she carried her uniform on one hand and holding
the cardigan on her waist with the other, so that it didn’t fall off.
“Where were you?” the step-mother was already a step a way as she finished asking the question.
Even before Aketch rolled the answer to her lips, a slap followed on her cheek. “Uuuwii!” the
friend had dropped the bag and was two steps backward fleeing the attack. She was scared by the
approach they were given by her friend’s mother. She never expected to be welcomed in such
way since it was her first time to visit them.
“I was sick!” Aketch threw the dress on the grass to block the numerous slaps that flew like a
sling on her face. “You want to fight with me?” “Punda hii!” When she tried to block a slap that
would have touched her eye, the step-mother said she fought with her. “I was sick that is why I

came late.” She repeated. The mother was too much swallowed and driven by her petty anger
that she did not even bother to listen to what she said. The cardigan fell off her waist and she
remained naked. The blood continued to flow but she was helpless as she continued to receive
the beatings which had translated into kicks and blows from slaps.
The friend stood by the gate and screamed as if she was the one being beaten. People from the
neighborhood and passersby came to see for themselves what was going on. The home was
situated on the skirts of the highway from Migori town to Muhuru Bay. Men and women stood to
witness the scene, as a little girl, naked, was being soaked in kicks and blunt punches on a dusty
ground. The men never minded the fact that was naked, they rushed to separate them.
That evening, Aketch was so fearful and frustrated that she decided not to spend the night at
home, and instead, went with her friend to their place. She was trying give the mother time so
that her temper could cool down so that she sobers up. She did not even get a chance to take her
shoes, she only picked a dress which was hanged on the hanging rope and vanished against her
step-mother’s will. She could not withstand the beatings and abuses that emanated from the
mouth of the step-mother. They walked through the forests with blood leaking through her torso
and mixing with dust exposing her to great danger of infection. Her eyes were swollen from the
slaps and the punches from the step-mother’s hard knuckles. Her friend helped her wipe out the
blood, but it was persistent and only water would help washed it away. Wiping would not help
the rivers of blood that flowed continuously.
Aketch cursed the day she started receiving her monthly periods. When morning came, she timed
when the mother had left home for her businesses, and sneaked home to dress up and go to
school. Worse, she found that the door was locked and the key was not kept where it used to be
kept. When she lacked alternatives, she went back to the friend’s place to see if she could assist
her with an extra uniform, but unluckily, she had just one, and she wore it. The frustrations and
the humiliation that was trying to demoralize her from going to school could not outweigh her
love and urge to go to school. She went with the civilian dress to school and was not scared what
the teachers would do to her for not having worn her uniform. She would explain.

When she came back from school in the evening, Aketch was so exhausted from everything that
had happened to her since the previous evening; embarrassments, frustrations, threats, and more.
In fact on that day she lost concentration in class. She stayed in a slumber land the whole day.
Everything that was taught in school that day fell on a deaf ear. She was only in class physically,
but mentally she was somewhere very far, not even anywhere around the fences of the school,
but too far. She wondered what would happen to her performance if the situations persisted.
Maybe her performance would depreciate. She was a top performer and the worst position she
ever took in class was three. You could hate Aketch for anything, but her good performance in
class would always impress you. Even the step-mother found it hard to hate her for that.
It was already dark. Aketch squeezed herself at the veranda next to the door as she waited for the
step-mother to come and let her in. Mosquitoes invaded her body in turns. Since the doors had
been closed since morning, Aketch could not get access to the houses. She was not aware that her
father was to come back until she felt a gentle touch on the upper part of her knee close to her
thigh. “Why are you here at this hour?” It was her father. She got up with tears all over her face.
She fell on her knees crying in pain as she searched for her father’s shoulder to find support and
solace. “The doors have been locked since morning; keys are nowhere to be seen.” She lamented.
Without commenting, her father collected her and placed her next to him where he sat on the
veranda as he curiously waited for his wife to arrive. As her father assisted her to wipe off the
tears, a bad malodourous smell chocked him but he did not know where it was all coming from.
It was from her daughter. Aketch had been bleeding for two days with no sanitary towels to assist
in holding the blood back. She had clots sandwiched between her thighs since morning.
When the step-mother came back thirty minutes past eight, she was shocked to find her husband
at home. She too never expected him to be back anytime soon since he had just visited them a
week ago. When asked why she locked Aketch off, she said she had sneaked out last night and
she had no information on where she slept, whether with a man or not. She added that Aketch
had grown ‘horns’ and was no longer controllable. “I have tried my best, but it seems like I am
going to give up on her if she continues like this.” She posed. Aketch stood helplessly in front of
her father, who had the boiling point of his anger increase in a drop of every second, wishing she

had the courage to remind the step-mother that she was lying, but no, she would cause more
chaos for her own self.
The step-mother succeeded in creating distrust between Aketch and her biological father so that
he could believe her no more even if she was right. Her father’s perception towards her changed
drastically. Aketch not only lost her value, but also her dignity. That is the happiness of a stepmother. Just a Swahili saying goes, “Mama wa kambo sio mama,” Aketch affirmed it all.
Aketch lost her appetite for life. She knew there would no more goodness with life. She
somehow lost hope. If her own father could no longer care about her, then there was no one she
could trust with her life, who could pump life into her. The step-mother was at will to do
anything to her as she wished since no one would defend her rights anymore. She spent time
secretly visiting her mother’s grave especially in the evening towards dusk so that no one could
notice her. She wept, mourned silently, and then prayed. It almost became a routine. She believed
that the dead had power over one’s life, and by going to visit her mother’s grave, she would get
some favors.
Aketch was a talented singer and poet. She sang during drama festivals in school, during parents’
day, and in church which she never missed. She only needed someone to nurture her talent.
When the news broke that Aketch topped their school list of candidates in the final exams, the
people who saw her struggles were not only amazed but also shocked. They wondered how she
could still make it to the top if she didn’t have all that time to study. She was depressed most of
the times. Every time she experienced her monthly periods, she missed school because she had
no towels. Aketch was never punctual to school; she would wake up very early, do cleanliness
and prepare breakfast which she never took. By the time she got to school, it was already thirty
minutes past seven, the gates were already closed. On days that she was not lucky, she would be
sent back home, but on the lucky ones, she bargained with the teachers who would let her in on
strict conditions.
Despite being the top student in the whole province and fourth in the whole country, Aketch’s
step-mother suggested that she join a local day school in the village. She argued that if she was
taken to the local day school, they would sometimes plead with the principal in case they didn’t

have school fees. She also managed to convince her husband that with the character that she had
earlier noticed with Aketch, she would not do well in a school far away from home, adding that
she would be involved in dirty games of life that would mess her up and the fees invested in her
would go to waste.
Were it not for the pressure that came from well-wishers, and the villagers who had secretly
acquired the information that Aketch was to be taken to a local school, and the primary school
where she went to, Aketch would have been admitted to the day school, just a stone throw away
from their home. They claimed that the good performance could not be wasted to please
someone who never felt the pain of birth. Gifts, best wishes, felicitation notes, donations and
more kept trickling in. Some in cash, some as clothes, shoes, food stuff and more.
Aketch got government sponsorship and sponsorship from well-wishers and became the first
ever to be admitted to Alliance Girl High School from her village. What a joy to her primary
school, her church, and the villagers except her step-mother who seemed disappointed. Aketch
proved her ill thoughts, wishes and demons wrong. Sanitary towels were no longer a barrier for
her education; thanks to the government, and philanthropists who provided. Aketch’s hope for a
better life that she dreamed of was reignited. As early as fourteen, she became an inspiration and
a motivational speaker to her colleagues at Alliance. She convinced them that ‘nothing is
impossible’ so long as you are hopeful and determined. Prayer, she said is also a big factor in
every achievement.
At Alliance, she shone on her talents. She won awards and prizes. She represented the country on
higher platforms within and outside the country. She wrote poems and songs with dedications to
the orphans, and those who felt left out in the society like the disabled. The messages in her
poems touched people from different walks. The songs were sung in churches. More sponsors
chipped in, some even promising to pay for her university at as early as form two. With the
school identity card, her class teacher thought ahead and opened up a bank account where she
could save the blessings she received from her poetry and singing.
In her second year at the University of Nairobi, she got an opportunity to travel to the UK for a
sojourn. She had gone to meet an executive director of a humanitarian organization with whom

they met during drama festivals she participated in in Rwanda while she was in form three. The
director had loved her poems and felt touched with them since they relayed a true life of an
African orphan. The organization offered her a partnership deal that would see her work with
them to boost the lives of orphans and the disabled youth in her society and beyond. More deals
kept coming; two from the US, one from Sweden, and another one from Switzerland.
After school, Aketch dedicated her life to the orphans from her community. At that time, she was
beyond any limitations by the step-mother. Education and talent helped her break from the yoke
of humiliation, separation, and oppression. She ensured that no child missed school because of
sanitary towels, books, or anything ‘petty’. She set a great example in her community and
abroad. She proved wrong them who thought otherwise. Those who saw impossibilities in her
struggles remained speechless. She proved the girl power to everyone who discouraged
education of girls in the society. She wished her mother was alive to enjoy all that she had
brought back home from the world, but one thing gave her hope and stopped her from wishing
against God’s will; her mother died so that God could take full control of her life and use her as
an example to the hopeless, which He successfully did.
Despite the fame and respect that Aketch had earned, she never revenged to her parents. In fact,
she loved them and respected them more, especially the stepmother. Aketch remained down to
earth and focused more on serving the vulnerable because she believed her success was theirs.
She inspired many!

AKETCH

At the age of ten, Aketch still referred to her step-mother as ‘mother’. During then, the stepmother had not had a firstborn yet and when she got pregnant, Aketch knew he or she would be
her follower. When one day an uncle informed her that the woman she had been referring to as
‘mama’ was not her biological mother, she refused to accept and thought ill of the uncle.
“How would one be born to two different women who do not even share a blood link?” Aketch
asked her father. “Not possible.” Her father replied. “Are you trying to mean that I was born
twice?” “Why did you ask that?” Her father took a couple minutes of trying to digest and even
analyze the question so that he could know how to answer that. “You were born once.” “And
where is my mother?”
The saddest part of her father’s life was revealing to her that her mother died when she was two
years, and he had raised her alone for more than seven years. The revelation came with
uncontrollable river of tears. Aketch pitied her father and blamed herself a number of times
forsaking her father such a question; either way she needed to know the truth.
When the step-mother got her firstborn, there were more noticeable changes in terms of
treatment. The little love that existed before diminished. Aketch was transitioning into being an
adolescent. The challenges of these stages rocked her; her behaviors changed. As always the case
with girls when in this critical stage of their lives, Aketch cut short the cordial ties that existed
between her and her father, not because that is exactly what she had longed to do, it came out
naturally.
It happened that in those days, her father got a job with Sony Sugar Company as a truck driver.
The job was too engaging denying him time with his family. Aketch was living at home with the
step-mother and her firstborn daughter who was only one year old. From their home to Sony was
an hour and thirty minutes’ drive or two hours on worse days when the roads were impassible
due to rains.

Aketch started being a truant at school. This was highly contributed by her father’s absence at
home. If she was lucky, she saw the doors of the classroom twice or once a week. Her stepmother’s true colors had finally showed up. Aketch had assumed new roles as the baby sitter and
the house maid. She couldn’t count the times she was punished in school because of not doing
homework, and reading her books became just another far-fetched luxury.
Worse was when Aketch missed to sit for the end term examination that would see her promoted
to the next class, not because there was no money to pay for her tuition, but because the stepmother had refused to remit the money even though her father had given out the money. When
her father came back one of the weekends and asked his wife why she did not do the exams, she
secretly left the blame on Aketch. She said that she had given the money to her to go and pay, but
she came back with it claiming that the teacher in charge was not around. When her father
questioned further why she did not take the initiative of going to see for herself as an adult, the
answer was unclear.
After she noticed that someone she used to call mother no longer cared for her well-being,
Aketch developed a lot of fear of approach. A gap developed between them. She feared telling
her some things that really mattered. As a requirement of nature for the females, Aketch started
to experience her menstrual cycle. When it first happened when she was in school, her
classmates harassed her, some of them claiming that she was untidy. To the small boys who
could not hold back their breath, laughed and poured more insults, not in pretense, but they were
just trying to imagine how blood could have come out of someone with no cause.
Humiliation, harassment, dismay, and fear all combined fell into her mind. Her dress was halfway soaked in blood. The smell that emanated from the impure blood was not a thing for
someone with least understanding. Fortunately, it came at four, when they were about to break
for home. However, walking with the clot and pool was no fun. She pleaded with a friend who
helped her out with a cardigan with which she wrapped her waist after removing her dress in a
toilet room.

At home, Aketch was not guaranteed a rest. She had an array of chores that awaited her upon
arrival from school; washing utensils, washing clothes, fetching water, and firewood. In fact,
Aketch was the woman and the step-mother was the girl. Aketch never had time to rest; leave
alone time to bury her head into her books. On some unusual days, she could wake up very early
in an attempt to get the work cleared in the morning so she could extend in the evening to attend
the evening lessons, but on the days that her father was around, the mother always pressed the
warning button in her.
Referring to Aketch as an underage at thirteen was inappropriate. She was already a woman at
the age of twelve, only that she was still living in her father’s home. That evening, she arrived
home thirty minutes past the usual time she used to come. Anyone human on earth that is
considerate would easily understand why it happened so after she had explained what happened
to her in school just minutes to home time. Aketch’s step-mother was a special case. In fact, for
lack of a better word in a world full of polite terms, to refer to a person of her equal, I would
refer to her as a ‘hyena” standing on two legs.
Who on the planet earth has ever seen a hyena sympathize with a sheep because she is unwell? If
I could be in knowledge of someone who has, I would reward him for witnessing the rarest event
of a human life. That was the exact replica of Aketch’s step-mother. It was only six when Aketch
got home, her clothes baked in blood of unpleasant smell. Alongside her, was a friend who had
escorted her from school carrying her bag as she carried her uniform on one hand and holding
the cardigan on her waist with the other, so that it didn’t fall off.
“Where were you?” the step-mother was already a step a way as she finished asking the question.
Even before Aketch rolled the answer to her lips, a slap followed on her cheek. “Uuuwii!” the
friend had dropped the bag and was two steps backward fleeing the attack. She was scared by the
approach they were given by her friend’s mother. She never expected to be welcomed in such
way since it was her first time to visit them.
“I was sick!” Aketch threw the dress on the grass to block the numerous slaps that flew like a
sling on her face. “You want to fight with me?” “Punda hii!” When she tried to block a slap that
would have touched her eye, the step-mother said she fought with her. “I was sick that is why I

came late.” She repeated. The mother was too much swallowed and driven by her petty anger
that she did not even bother to listen to what she said. The cardigan fell off her waist and she
remained naked. The blood continued to flow but she was helpless as she continued to receive
the beatings which had translated into kicks and blows from slaps.
The friend stood by the gate and screamed as if she was the one being beaten. People from the
neighborhood and passersby came to see for themselves what was going on. The home was
situated on the skirts of the highway from Migori town to Muhuru Bay. Men and women stood to
witness the scene, as a little girl, naked, was being soaked in kicks and blunt punches on a dusty
ground. The men never minded the fact that was naked, they rushed to separate them.
That evening, Aketch was so fearful and frustrated that she decided not to spend the night at
home, and instead, went with her friend to their place. She was trying give the mother time so
that her temper could cool down so that she sobers up. She did not even get a chance to take her
shoes, she only picked a dress which was hanged on the hanging rope and vanished against her
step-mother’s will. She could not withstand the beatings and abuses that emanated from the
mouth of the step-mother. They walked through the forests with blood leaking through her torso
and mixing with dust exposing her to great danger of infection. Her eyes were swollen from the
slaps and the punches from the step-mother’s hard knuckles. Her friend helped her wipe out the
blood, but it was persistent and only water would help washed it away. Wiping would not help
the rivers of blood that flowed continuously.
Aketch cursed the day she started receiving her monthly periods. When morning came, she timed
when the mother had left home for her businesses, and sneaked home to dress up and go to
school. Worse, she found that the door was locked and the key was not kept where it used to be
kept. When she lacked alternatives, she went back to the friend’s place to see if she could assist
her with an extra uniform, but unluckily, she had just one, and she wore it. The frustrations and
the humiliation that was trying to demoralize her from going to school could not outweigh her
love and urge to go to school. She went with the civilian dress to school and was not scared what
the teachers would do to her for not having worn her uniform. She would explain.

When she came back from school in the evening, Aketch was so exhausted from everything that
had happened to her since the previous evening; embarrassments, frustrations, threats, and more.
In fact on that day she lost concentration in class. She stayed in a slumber land the whole day.
Everything that was taught in school that day fell on a deaf ear. She was only in class physically,
but mentally she was somewhere very far, not even anywhere around the fences of the school,
but too far. She wondered what would happen to her performance if the situations persisted.
Maybe her performance would depreciate. She was a top performer and the worst position she
ever took in class was three. You could hate Aketch for anything, but her good performance in
class would always impress you. Even the step-mother found it hard to hate her for that.
It was already dark. Aketch squeezed herself at the veranda next to the door as she waited for the
step-mother to come and let her in. Mosquitoes invaded her body in turns. Since the doors had
been closed since morning, Aketch could not get access to the houses. She was not aware that her
father was to come back until she felt a gentle touch on the upper part of her knee close to her
thigh. “Why are you here at this hour?” It was her father. She got up with tears all over her face.
She fell on her knees crying in pain as she searched for her father’s shoulder to find support and
solace. “The doors have been locked since morning; keys are nowhere to be seen.” She lamented.
Without commenting, her father collected her and placed her next to him where he sat on the
veranda as he curiously waited for his wife to arrive. As her father assisted her to wipe off the
tears, a bad malodourous smell chocked him but he did not know where it was all coming from.
It was from her daughter. Aketch had been bleeding for two days with no sanitary towels to assist
in holding the blood back. She had clots sandwiched between her thighs since morning.
When the step-mother came back thirty minutes past eight, she was shocked to find her husband
at home. She too never expected him to be back anytime soon since he had just visited them a
week ago. When asked why she locked Aketch off, she said she had sneaked out last night and
she had no information on where she slept, whether with a man or not. She added that Aketch
had grown ‘horns’ and was no longer controllable. “I have tried my best, but it seems like I am
going to give up on her if she continues like this.” She posed. Aketch stood helplessly in front of
her father, who had the boiling point of his anger increase in a drop of every second, wishing she

had the courage to remind the step-mother that she was lying, but no, she would cause more
chaos for her own self.
The step-mother succeeded in creating distrust between Aketch and her biological father so that
he could believe her no more even if she was right. Her father’s perception towards her changed
drastically. Aketch not only lost her value, but also her dignity. That is the happiness of a stepmother. Just a Swahili saying goes, “Mama wa kambo sio mama,” Aketch affirmed it all.
Aketch lost her appetite for life. She knew there would no more goodness with life. She
somehow lost hope. If her own father could no longer care about her, then there was no one she
could trust with her life, who could pump life into her. The step-mother was at will to do
anything to her as she wished since no one would defend her rights anymore. She spent time
secretly visiting her mother’s grave especially in the evening towards dusk so that no one could
notice her. She wept, mourned silently, and then prayed. It almost became a routine. She believed
that the dead had power over one’s life, and by going to visit her mother’s grave, she would get
some favors.
Aketch was a talented singer and poet. She sang during drama festivals in school, during parents’
day, and in church which she never missed. She only needed someone to nurture her talent.
When the news broke that Aketch topped their school list of candidates in the final exams, the
people who saw her struggles were not only amazed but also shocked. They wondered how she
could still make it to the top if she didn’t have all that time to study. She was depressed most of
the times. Every time she experienced her monthly periods, she missed school because she had
no towels. Aketch was never punctual to school; she would wake up very early, do cleanliness
and prepare breakfast which she never took. By the time she got to school, it was already thirty
minutes past seven, the gates were already closed. On days that she was not lucky, she would be
sent back home, but on the lucky ones, she bargained with the teachers who would let her in on
strict conditions.
Despite being the top student in the whole province and fourth in the whole country, Aketch’s
step-mother suggested that she join a local day school in the village. She argued that if she was
taken to the local day school, they would sometimes plead with the principal in case they didn’t

have school fees. She also managed to convince her husband that with the character that she had
earlier noticed with Aketch, she would not do well in a school far away from home, adding that
she would be involved in dirty games of life that would mess her up and the fees invested in her
would go to waste.
Were it not for the pressure that came from well-wishers, and the villagers who had secretly
acquired the information that Aketch was to be taken to a local school, and the primary school
where she went to, Aketch would have been admitted to the day school, just a stone throw away
from their home. They claimed that the good performance could not be wasted to please
someone who never felt the pain of birth. Gifts, best wishes, felicitation notes, donations and
more kept trickling in. Some in cash, some as clothes, shoes, food stuff and more.
Aketch got government sponsorship and sponsorship from well-wishers and became the first
ever to be admitted to Alliance Girl High School from her village. What a joy to her primary
school, her church, and the villagers except her step-mother who seemed disappointed. Aketch
proved her ill thoughts, wishes and demons wrong. Sanitary towels were no longer a barrier for
her education; thanks to the government, and philanthropists who provided. Aketch’s hope for a
better life that she dreamed of was reignited. As early as fourteen, she became an inspiration and
a motivational speaker to her colleagues at Alliance. She convinced them that ‘nothing is
impossible’ so long as you are hopeful and determined. Prayer, she said is also a big factor in
every achievement.
At Alliance, she shone on her talents. She won awards and prizes. She represented the country on
higher platforms within and outside the country. She wrote poems and songs with dedications to
the orphans, and those who felt left out in the society like the disabled. The messages in her
poems touched people from different walks. The songs were sung in churches. More sponsors
chipped in, some even promising to pay for her university at as early as form two. With the
school identity card, her class teacher thought ahead and opened up a bank account where she
could save the blessings she received from her poetry and singing.
In her second year at the University of Nairobi, she got an opportunity to travel to the UK for a
sojourn. She had gone to meet an executive director of a humanitarian organization with whom

they met during drama festivals she participated in in Rwanda while she was in form three. The
director had loved her poems and felt touched with them since they relayed a true life of an
African orphan. The organization offered her a partnership deal that would see her work with
them to boost the lives of orphans and the disabled youth in her society and beyond. More deals
kept coming; two from the US, one from Sweden, and another one from Switzerland.
After school, Aketch dedicated her life to the orphans from her community. At that time, she was
beyond any limitations by the step-mother. Education and talent helped her break from the yoke
of humiliation, separation, and oppression. She ensured that no child missed school because of
sanitary towels, books, or anything ‘petty’. She set a great example in her community and
abroad. She proved wrong them who thought otherwise. Those who saw impossibilities in her
struggles remained speechless. She proved the girl power to everyone who discouraged
education of girls in the society. She wished her mother was alive to enjoy all that she had
brought back home from the world, but one thing gave her hope and stopped her from wishing
against God’s will; her mother died so that God could take full control of her life and use her as
an example to the hopeless, which He successfully did.
Despite the fame and respect that Aketch had earned, she never revenged to her parents. In fact,
she loved them and respected them more, especially the stepmother. Aketch remained down to
earth and focused more on serving the vulnerable because she believed her success was theirs.
She inspired many!

Nairobi,not my darling anymore!

I grew up in the village. In my village, there is a main road that connects Kenya with Tanzania from Migori town. During my early childhood, there were not so many cars around my village. In fact, it was better that way because it helped in the timings whenever one wanted to travel either to Migori, or to Muhuru, a mini-town located at the border of the two. So, one would prepare himself knowing that at a specific time, he would board Saidi, the matatu that used to route between Migori and Muhuru.

During those days in the month of December, it was obvious that at least a relative would be coming from the city back home for the Christmas.  When it reached 21st of every Dec, we used to be alert to receive a visitor- so we would wait by the roadside by four to four thirty pm, which was the time for Saidi. However, most of the visitors we used to receive, who included, cousins, aunts, uncles, and more, were alighting from Nairobi city. And note that Nairobi was never sweet in the lips without the extension ‘city’ in it. You know.

Something that I used to note with people from Nairobi is that they used to be neat with some perfume smells on their clothes and bodies. This made me feel like I need to also go to Nairobi and at least have the same smell. Being a juvenile human being, I used to embrace some of the simple goodies they came with like biscuits, juices, some T-shirts for us, and more. That was then. Very different from my current thoughts and personality.

Fortunately, I got an opportunity to set my foot into a city that was my dreamland during then. Now here I am in Nairobi, struggling to fend for myself just like any adult human being alive do.

Nairobi that used to be a darling to many, has disappointed my thoughts about it. I am not free in it. When I walk along the CBD, the situation there is the same as that in its slums. Muggers all over! I no longer walk with my phone on my ears because I fear losing it to the gangs who the majority if not all are youth. One day I tasted their energy and tricks as I walked along to Kencom from OTC. You look at the situation and you ask yourself if they are licensed to carry out the activities. Sad!

I wish I was in the city in the early years to do a comparison of the traffic situation with now, rather than listening to what people tells me about it. But truth be told the traffic situation in the city is disgusting. I did not believe until one day I stayed in the traffic jam for close to two hours, something that forced me to cancel a meeting with my client who had waited enough and had ran out of patience. Is this because people are investing in cars more than the government does on roads? not aware.

A friend of mine once giggled when I told him to stop saying that we are living in Nairobi anymore. He did not know why, but he laughed seriously like I was funny. My statement simply meant that the muddy street that we were walking on at that moment, were not a true definition of a city that used to be my darling. In some areas in the city, any weather condition is a challenge. These areas makes you hate sunny seasons more than the rainy seasons and vise-versa. You don’t know which one is the best season between winter, summer, autumn, or spring. What the hell!

We need our darling back! This starts with me and you. Campaign against criminology among the youth, just one of the steps that will lead to the restoration of the city’s dignity.Let’s do this. We can still make Nairobi a better home for ourselves and foreigners, if we act today. Let us handle the garbage responsibly rather than littering the city like it’s none of our business. We have a beautiful city in the region, a city that the founder father of Tanganyika, Mwalimu Julius Kambarage Nyerere once compared New York. The problem we have, is that we don’t love it enough to help it grow. Let us do this.

Thank you!

Success do not come in lump sum

It is everyone’s wish to be successful in whatever they undertake. However, different people view success in different perspectives and angles. People use different parameters to tell whether they, or someone else is ‘successful’ or not. This may be influenced by different aspects of life ranging from religious faiths, to the social norms. But do you know what it takes to achieve success?

In my community for example, people have been made to think that, owning a car as being successful in life. Whenever one owns a car, they think the person has achieved so much or enough to be called tajiri (a wealthy person). I would not blame them for that since that is how they view it and it may take time for them to believe otherwise. Cars, to some people or communities, are just but liabilities that brings no good than stress. They believe that a car will only ‘drain’ more cash from the owner that it generates, especially if it’s a private car. So they would rather own a commercial one which at least brings some cash at the end of the day.

In the Kenyan Maasai community, I am made to understand that they will know that a person is successful by looking at the heads of cattle, sheep, and goats that he owns. I held a one-on-one with a close confidant of mine from the lands of maa, and he confirmed to me that the lager the herd, the more the respect one will be accorded. All these are just by the way.

Regardless of where one hails from, whether black or white, it is evident that success never comes in lump sum. It is rare that one will wake up one day and bump into his success, unless in the special cases of miracle. But, the little efforts you put in each day in your endeavors, would make you undoubtedly successful in whatever that you are dreaming to achieve.

It is fine to do the ‘small’ you can each day, rather than trying to venture into things that are beyond your reach. Success has no shortcut. I am told that shortcuts just as the name suggests, cuts short. They don’t last for awhile. It doesn’t matter how long you will take to reach your goal, though by the time you will finally be there, you will have a story to tell to people, and even those who saw you struggle with it, will testify on your behalf.

Attitude dictates one’s chances of achieving success. Negativity is the worst enemy to success. The mood with which you wake up in the morning, prognosticates what you will come back with in the evening. If you are negative about anything you do, you will always see chances of possibility at ten percent, and those of impossibility at ninety percent. I always believe that anything, as long as it had been done by someone else, is doable if you are positive.

Sometimes people view us differently from how we view ourselves. For example, a somebody may look at you and think that you have made it in one way or the other, yet, personally you feel that you still have a long way to go. I want to tell you this, have confidence in yourself and you will notice the steps you are making each day. If you trust in yourself, others will definitely bestow their trust on you. Don’t disappoint those who believe in your capability by looking at yourself as inferior. There is nothing that confidence cannot achieve. Be confident and you will win!

Don’t wait until you reach the self-actualization stage is when you start appreciating yourself. Be thankful for yourself for every effort you put in each day towards achieving your goal in life. Some have admired to be where you are so that they can do even littler that you do. When you take a part of the few that you have acquired to say ‘thank you’ to yourself either by having a nice meal in a nice hotel of your choice, or buying yourself a nice clothe, believe you me, that has not gone for a waste. Appreciation starts with you!

Your success will always speak louder than the struggles and hurdles you went through. It will attract more people than your hardships did. Be aware of how to deal with both extremes. Don’t be too jealous that success will separate you from your friends, and at the same time, don’t be too tolerant that people will turn against you after they are done enjoying your success and you are left with nothing-be in between.

Wake up today, go out there, as long as God has given you life, do all you can in every manner you can and wait for your success. Always know that it is a process and not an event. If you persist, you pray, and work harder today than you did yesterday, and harder tomorrow than you did today, your success is guaranteed. Let your past not limit you, instead, it should motivate you to work harder and smarter that if you were raised in a mat, your children and subsequent generations after them may be raised on a mattress in Jesus name!

Thank you!

Why did you join social media?

“Why did you join social media?” This is a question that not anyone can answer easily. Personally, I have not been at a position to answer this question until late because honestly, I did not have a purpose for subscribing to any social site. As I type this article today, there are more than ten social platforms in existence. But hey!, what is this thing called social media to begin with?

Any website or application that gives you as the user an opportunity to create and share content or to participate in social networking is referred to as “Social media”.  With time, we have seen an increase in the number of the social sites, signaling their usefulness in the current societal setup.

I held a discussion with a friend of mine, when I asked him the question “why did you join social media?” , he told me that he joined facebook because his colleagues at school were on facebook and he felt awkward and lonely whenever they teamed up to share about what was happening online. I loved how precise he was with his answer. Such like reasons, I may term as “peer pressure” since its sole purpose was to make my friend feel part of his peers in school.

Why would I criticize my friend for joining facebook out of peer pressure, if someone else joined it to post nudes? I haven’t pointed a finger of accusation against anyone, but honestly, how many times have you met a naked human being on facebook for example? But yes, that could have been his or her sole purpose for subscribing to the respective sites…you never know. Pornographic videos all over, suggests that either we are trying to embrace some unique cultures, or a group of people somewhere is messing the whole generation.

Anyway, that was just but a by the way albeit sickening thought of my mind. Now, social media sites, from facebook, twitter, youtube, pinterest, instagram, and what have you, you can mention them, gives us an opportunity to interact, network,market, share, get entertained, and learn, and any other thing that we do on them. However, a handful of us found themselves in these platforms with no sole purpose of being there. The ideas, products, contents, and anything else that they share on it, came and found them already there.

That is why, you find that to some extent, some of us just log in to these platforms just to like, retweet, and disapprove other people’s posts. they rarely take their time to go through the contents that are contained in those posts.Now, answer yourself on “why you joined” the social platform that you are on, and do exactly that to ensure that you optimize your presence on it. Use the opportunity of being on social media  media to network, impact, interact, market and buy from the people that you may not find an opportunity to meet in real life.

Thank you!

Successful relationship and what it takes

It is always the wish of everyone, both boys and girls, men and women, to have a working romantic relationship. However, not everyone is willing to embrace what it takes to have one. To some people, it remains to be a mystery that a romantic relationship can work out successfully in this era. However, it is a sure thing that it works and can work out for anyone else, as long as they understand what needs to be done in order to have one.

Even though I am in one, I still had to call for a one-on-one session with a few individuals whom I believe to be in bot extremes (working and non-working relationships). To be sure for an authentic feedback and report on this, I conducted a questionnaire type of interview with a holistic point of view that did not target an individual, but all of us who have the quest of having successful relationships.

When I speak of a successful romantic relationship, I don’t mean one without ups and downs, because there is none like such. It is rare or not possible to find a companion without bumps of misunderstandings and ideological differences just to mention. But when I talk about a successful relationship, I mean a relationship that translates into an end goal (marriage). A relationship that is driven by love, is always a good one.

Unfortunately, most of us today mistake boy-girl situation-ships for relationships. My friend goes by the name Jackie. At work, I usually spend my time with her to discuss matters relationship since the time the news about her wedding fell into my ears. Every time I asked asked her what would make my relationship work, she simply replied, “identify someone you love and respect your her”. She termed respect as one of the key pillars of every successful relationship. When you respect your relationship partner, you not only shame the devil, but also ensure that your influence others who thinks otherwise.

According to my friend Jackie, trust is very fundamental in every relationship. With trust, Jackie argues that anything is possible to achieve in a relationship. The moment trust starts to fade a way from, nothing will work out for the relationship, and according to her, the only solution to this, is to renew it, or call off the relationship before it turns into a burdening one.

It is true that human beings are for mistakes and most often, we always wrong one another in a relationship. But how we respond or react whenever we go wrong on one another matters than anything else. Those who have always had successful relationships who were willing to share with me their experiences, observed that whenever on has wrong his/her partner, it is safe for him or her to say ‘sorry’. One loses nothing by apologizing for the wrong he has has done. When you say sorry, the devils shies off and betrayers sit back.

With the few remarks, I wish to encourage more healthy conversations on how to sustain a a relationship and make it as healthy and substantial as possible. These words were also repeated by the pastor who conjoined my friend Jackie and Peter’s marriage ceremony yesterday at the Redeemed Gospel Church in Huruma Nairobi yesterday. Congratulations to her and many others who chose or choose to embrace all that a successful relationships entails.

All the best!

How blogging can be used to protect the rights of Kenyans

A blog is an online form of journalism which is used to pass information. It is a platform where writers gets to share their views on individual subjects depending on their interests. Blogging is very key for communication in our society today.

In the current society setup, not everyone depends on the media(TV&Radio) for news-one may not be at a point of viewing news on the television, but gets the news online through mini blogs such as whatsapp posts, Facebook posts, and/or blog posts. Blogging being that informative, it can be used to protect the rights of Kenyans.

Blogging can be used to educate people on their rights. We have bloggers who are interested and are more informed about the Kenyan rights and freedoms. If they take an initiative of blogging about the rights of Kenyans with an aim of informing them of these rights and freedoms, Kenyans can get a chance to learn about them and make sure that no one goes against their rights. Human rights bloggers should involve in insightful blogging to ensure that people are informed of their rights since not all Kenyans are aware of these rights as stipulated in the constitution. Through this, Kenyans’ rights can be protected.

Blogging can also be used to mobilize Kenyans to fight for their rights. I have witnessed during public demonstrations, people get mobilized through online mini blogs. In a case where human rights have been violated, blogging can be used to mobilize people for peaceful demos to protect their rights. Through blogging, bloggers can also demonstrate online through sharing their blogs on human rights on various platforms for example twitter which has millions of users. During Kenyan post election violence 2007/2008, people used get information about mass demos through mini blogs because that could not be aired on the TVs and radios or even published on the magazine.

Awareness is very key in the society. We’ve had cases of violation of rights which are never told in the media or never published in the newspapers because maybe, the media is not aware of them, or are afraid of airing them openly. Bloggers can use such instances to ensure that such news of violation are spread on the social media platforms and shared widely to create awareness and compel action through the concerned forces. For example, during the instances of electoral unrest in the country, there are some places that the journalists find tricky to access. In places like Kibera and Mathare for example, people are not always friendly to the media personnel during the chaotic moments and therefore they are not able to cover every bit of human rights’ violation in such areas.

In cases like such, where people have developed hostility against journalists so that they may carry out outlawed acts of human rights violation as; raping, looting and extrajudicial killings, bloggers can be very key in ensuring that such information is widely shared so that it can reach to the police networks. This is because bloggers in most cases, are just ordinary people who are not branded in any way. Because of this, they can easily maneuver their ways and sneak with such information in cases of hostility to the media.

I have an example of a student whose right to education was almost being violated when he was sent home for school fees and walking for more than fifty kilometers from Kapenguria. Through a post on Facebook(which is an example of a mini blog) , the boy’s story got to the media, and good Samaritans got the news and helped him go back to his studies by writing off his fee balance. He was taken back to school by an anonymous well wisher who gave him full scholarship. This was an awareness well created.

We also hear of FGM (female genital mutilations) in various parts of the country where young girls are forcefully taken for the practice. This is violation of human right. Bloggers can cover such stories through writing and photo shoots, share widely, and ensure that these young girls get their rights.

The first encounter

I first spotted you among the congregation in church, but I felt the difficulty to request you to spell out your names despite the fact that my interest in you arose each single minute our eyes came into contact(maybe because I sat a distance away). My mind walked away from the teachings that the pastor relayed and was diverted to you. You sat a row a head of me but I could see a better part of your body from the back and side somehow. I really wished to nudge you on the first spot but the surrounding did not allow me.

After the service, I made my way out through the thick crowd towards the church gate. I was eager to start a conversation with you but you were also very keen to keep a distance away(two feet away or so); maybe you wanted me to play hard just to get closer to you. I kept my eyes on you so that you could not disappear in the crowd. So I followed slowly bit by bit, step by step. When the crowd finally dispersed and everyone started going their own ways, some in teams, I realized that you followed the same path as me. So I was kinda happy that I would catch up with you along the way.

But I was shy. How could I even express myself again after the little conversation we had inside the church? A question struck my mind. However, I promised myself that I had to shake your hands despite the difficulty that I was experiencing in doing so. You were sandwiched between two girlfriends of yours with whom I wasn’t familiar to as well. One of them, who was dark, tall, and a bit slender per say, was dressed in a pink full dress with high heeled shoes. She looked older than you. The other, who was walking on your left hand side, was in a black skirt, similar to you, but with a pale-blue blouse, and rubber shoes-according to my assumption, she was definitely the youngest of you all.

I drew closer to you but I knew not of anything to tell you so that the conversation could begin. I kept moving behind you as I enjoyed the story you were making albeit I was afraid to join the conversation.

When your friends branched and went their ways, you maintained the same path with me. That gave me the courage and guarantee to tap you by the shoulder. I did not even know your name. You did not stop immediately, but you finally did and I got the chance to say to pronounce my name to you. You responded and told me yours as well. I wasn’t sure if you were free to walk next to me, but you invited me to walk by your side and i did exactly that. We walked slowly starring at each other from top to the ground. I could not imagine walking right beside you like a couple.

Since it was our first encounter, I had the difficulty to quote my intentions, or even to propose for a friendship because we shared nothing mutual or romantic already. So we only kept it to school stories; where we schooled, what courses we did or intended to do, their importance, among many things that we mentioned in the conversation. Your answers were kind and the smile you wore was not only romantic but also appealing. For once or twice, I feared a direct eye-contact with you, but you kept it regular that I had no option but to adapt to you beautiful face.

Just walking by your side alone for that first time made me to feel like a King. I was curious of people’s thoughts as they saw us making our way home like married partners. Unfortunately, it came my time to branch to the house and let you proceed with the journey. We exchanged contacts and you proceeded with your journey home.

Even though I was happy that I talked to you, at the back of my mind I was not at peace because I did not manage to mention my interest in you. Anyway, I had acquired your number so we would talk further.

But just before I could say goodbye………!

Why exploit the vulnerable?

When I talk of the vulnerable groups in a society, I am simply referring to; children, youth, women, and people living with disabilities(Though some people count weak men among the vulnerable group…hehehe).

While some people may fail to demystify the difference between sexual exploitation,  and sexual harassment, the two words are extremely different and may at the same time in different styles and techniques. It is important to know when to say one has been harassed and/or exploited sexually.

Sexual exploitation is the abuse of children and youth(though it also happens in marriages) sexually at the expense of food, shelter, drugs, and more. Whereas sexual harassment may be termed as unwelcome sexual advances, requests for sexual favors, and other verbal or physical conduct of sexual nature. In this article, I shall major on exploitation, because it is the end result for harassment. It all emanates from the mind.

Sexual exploitation usually involve a strong and a vulnerable party; either children,youth or women. According to Eunice Barasa, any unsolicited sexual engagement is exploitation-something I personally agree to a hundred percent. Any sexual engagement without consent of both parties is an abuse. During sexual exploitation, not both parties are always willing and the unwilling one is always the victim while the willing is the criminal in the whole scenario.

Sexual exploitation, whether verbal or anal, is a criminal offense and culprits involved are eligible to criminal charges. Sexually exploited individuals suffers a lot of trauma through out their entire lives and looks desperate among their peers when the story spills to the public. They need thorough counselling and guidance on how to deal with their situations.

Below are some of the impacts of sexual exploitation:

Psychological: Anxiety, depression, addiction, low self-esteem, nightmares, and flashbacks.

Social: Isolation from friends and families, education(some of them never go back to school), difficulty in making and maintaining friendships, and more.

Physiological: Pregnancies, diseases(STIs), weight loss, fertility problems, and physical injuries among many others.

Sometimes those who are undergoing exploitation are not aware( according to Alex Muriithi). But even if this is the case, why take advantage of the weaker ones? measures should be tightened to escalate this matter.

Albeit doing away with sexual exploitation is not an overnight thing, but there are clear and sure indicators that it can be completely escalated. Sexual exploitation happens in work places, in marriages, in schools, and or even in churches.

Let  no one take advantage of what they have over those who don’t have so that they may achieve their short-term sexual desires. It is of no help and may result to punishment from God. Just as other people in the society, the rights of the vulnerable groups also need to be upheld. These people deserve respect and protection by both law of the lands and law of heavens. They as well have personalities to protect.

 

My plea therefore is; let’s respect the vulnerable!